


Away, I'd Rather Sail Away

by theweddingofthefoxes



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alcohol, Blowjobs, Drowning Mention, Fluff, M/M, Making Out, Modern AU, Smoking, somewhat sickfic, truly this is fluff without plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-09-01 00:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8600188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theweddingofthefoxes/pseuds/theweddingofthefoxes
Summary: Ben really, really did not want to go to the beach with his parents. But when he meets a cute stranger on the next balcony over, he's beginning to feel better about giving in to their request.





	1. A Dark and Stormy Night

**Author's Note:**

> Away, I'd rather sail away  
> Like a swan that's here and gone
> 
> -El Condor Pasa, Simon and Garfunkel

The only part of this vacation Ben had been looking forward to was going for a night swim, and now, at least tonight, it doesn't seem like that was going to happen. Lightning gleams way out on the horizon, far out to sea, and the wind blows hard, promising a downpour. Ben knows he had a tendency to do stupid shit, but even he wasn't going to go swimming in the ocean during a thunderstorm, not with the sea so noisy and rough. Even in the darkness, he can hear the roaring churn of the waves on the empty beach. 

He lights a cigarette, pulls open Pokemon Go, and tries to stay positive. 

Okay. So maybe the weather will clear by the morning. He makes a mental note to set his alarm for early the following day. A sunrise swim sounds like just the thing. If not, well, at least his parents would find something to busy themselves and he could go to the movies or an arcade or something. He snorted, imagining himself towering over the kids, shoving them out of the way to get a turn on the Pac-Man machine. 

He focuses on catching the stubborn Eevee that appears to be perched on the balcony railing, until he hears a voice.

"Got a light?"

Ben turns.

The suite he's sharing with his parents is at the very end of the hotel's wing, so there are no balconies to the right. But to his left, there's someone standing, leaning on the railing, looking expectant, like Ben had promised to meet him there at a pre-arranged time. Skinny redhead in skinny jeans, and a button-up shirt that seems wrong for the beach. 

"What makes you think I do?" Ben jokes, taking a drag off his cigarette. If the young guy thinks Ben's being funny, he hides it well. He just raises an eyebrow.

"Are you going to share or what?"

"Kid, are you like, even old enough to smoke?"

"Kid? I'm twenty-four, thanks."

Two years older than Ben himself. Ben believes him, though he's young-looking. The guy must sense his hesitation, because he says, annoyed, "Do you want my driver's license? Jesus H. Christ."

The wind blows like a warning, the air heavy with rain-smell, though it hasn't started to fall just yet. Ben chucks the lighter the short distance between the two balconies and the guy grabs it, unthinking, seemingly surprised at his own agility. He lights his own cigarette, shielding it from the wind with one ivory-white hand. 

"Thanks," he says, once it's lit.

"You're welcome." Ben's curiosity has been piqued. He wants more information. "There's about a million Sunsation stores that will sell you like six lighters for a buck."

"Those lighters are pieces of shit. That's actually why I asked if I could use yours. And my friends don't smoke."

"You came with friends?"

The guy looks around, conspiratorial, like those friends are going to hear him through the glass door. "To tell you the truth, I'm third-wheeling two friends who are dating. They wanted to lower the cost of the room and asked if I wanted to hang at the beach for a few days. Apparently there weren't any rooms with one bed left, only two, and God knows they're not sleeping separately."

He looks at Ben. "What about you? Your girlfriend not smoke, or is she tired of watching you play that idiot Pokemon game?"

Something about this guy's aggression feels like a bluff. Daring Ben to fight him, or get annoyed. Maybe it's the way he says the word _girlfriend_. 

"I'm here with my parents," Ben says. "I'm on summer break from school. They never see me and offered to pay for the room and for my dinners, so."

Should he say it?

He says it.

"Also I don't really date women."

The guy's face doesn't change, but Ben sees the way he's playing with the lighter he's lent him, turning it over and clicking it to sent little sparks shooting out. 

"What do you do at school?" the guy finally says.

"English. To Dad's dismay. But I got a full ride, so as long as he didn't have to pay for it, he said he wasn't that concerned."

"Full ride, huh?" The guy clicks the lighter again, looking almost fond. "You must be smart."

"Smart enough, I guess. Though Dad thinks I'm going to end up in the family trade regardless. Do you go to school?"

"I'm an architecture grad student at College Park."

"And you think I'm smart?" Ben asks. "Jesus. That's where, you know. The money is."

"I like designing things." The guy takes a drag just as the rain finally hits, slamming down on the roofs of all the cars in the parking lot four floors down, a clap of thunder sounding at the same time. All that noise sends the guy jolting, pulling himself up stiff and straight, a safe distance from the railing. "I guess I'd better go back inside," he goes on. "I'd hate to get soaked."

Ben works to hide his disappointment, but it's not easy. The fact this guy's shirt is white does not go unnoticed. 

"But. Uh." The guy keeps talking, sounding a little less confident, a little more rushed, and it's sending Ben's stomach swimming and squirming like an eel. "I don't know how much time you feel like spending with your parents, but I know I'm gonna be, um. Probably shut out for a good while on this trip. Not maliciously or anything, but still, you know how it is, cause they're fucking. Not right this minute. As far as I know. But still. So if you give me your number, I'll text you."

Ben feels his head swimming, in a way he rather enjoys. He recites his number slowly, so the guy can put it in his phone, but the guy double checks anyway.

"And your name?" he asks, like he's taking an order.

"Ben."

"Ben. B-E-N. Okay, I'll text you, then." The guy disappears into his hotel room as a fresh gale blows up, sending Ben's shirt fluttering. Not thirty seconds later, his phone lights up. 

_Hey, I realized I didn't give you my name. It's Armie. Also I still have your lighter. I'll give it to you tomorrow. You can go ahead and knock on the door whenever you want. I'll let you know if we're going out. I'm sure you can join us._

Ben reads it two times, three. Clearly Armie is not playing coy, so why should he?

_Thanks a lot._

He frowns. It looks sarcastic that way. But an exclamation mark would look way too excited. He deletes the message and starts over. 

_I'll come by at like ten, maybe we can get lunch?_

That's better.

Armie texts back quickly.

_Sounds good. I'm getting in the shower and then going to bed. I drove all day._

Ben bites his lip, thinking. Is it weird to say...?

Whatever. Just do it.

_Good night._

Barely a moment's pause.

_Good night, Ben._


	2. Sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The weather has cleared and Ben's luck may have changed drastically.

Ben's luck had turned from the moment he's gotten the text from Armie, it seems. He'd forgotten about how early he set his alarm until it woke him, but he found himself not bothered by the chime (that annoying Big Ben-tune but higher pitched, even more annoying, an old joke that he'd never bothered to change) because the sunrise was pink and clear outside his window, only a scattering scrubbing of clouds left in the sky after the nighttime storm. 

It takes only ten minutes for him to change into swim trunks, find his towel, send his mother a text that explained in full detail where he was going (God forbid she come into the living room that had been given to him, where he slept on the pull-out couch, and find him gone with no explanation--she'd think he was kidnapped) and then make his way down the stairs to the lobby. The sleepy front desk clerk doesn't even seem to see him as he slips out the back door and heads down the path to the beach.

He folds up the towel and braces himself as he strides right out into the icy water. For a few seconds, it's torture, but he quickly recovers and starts to enjoy his swim as he heads out, further and further, towards the sunrise blooming out on the eastern horizon. This is exactly what he loves, testing himself, proving himself, and being by himself, no one bothering him to hurry up or do anything else. Although...

Ben isn't sure how many times he reread that short text message conversation with Armie, but it was a lot. 

He indulges himself in imagining that Armie is watching him, even though he's pretty sure he's the only person in Ocean City who is awake. No, that's definitely not true. Further down the beach, in either direction, he can see the tiny figures of oldsters ambling along for an early-morning beach walk, and of joggers and serious, triathalon-type swimmers exercising along and in the water. Not his method, Ben thinks. It'd be neat to try that, though. He's always been athletic. Maybe after graduation. 

He jolts as he happens to turn around and face the hotel side of things instead of the sun, to check and make sure he hasn't drifted too far away, when he sees the unmistakable red of Armie's hair way up on the balcony on the fourth floor. Oh, fuck! Can Armie see him, for real? 

Armie's smoking again, it seems. Ben can't see him super well, but that's what it looks like he's doing. Still has Ben's lighter. Ben lets the next wave push him out past the gentle swells he's been swimming in and is punished by the sting of churning sand and surf as he awkwardly flamingo-steps back out onto the beach to dry off. As much as he doesn't want to, he faces away from the hotel, hoping Armie will still be there when he turns back to head up the path. 

He is. 

He doesn't know if Armie saw him, or is currently seeing him, but it has thrown his imagination into overdrive. Armie seems so driven and intelligent, maybe he just naturally gets up early, maybe he heard Ben getting ready? Heard his alarm? It seems unlikely. The walls aren't really that thin. And it's more romantic to imagine Armie was simply in the right place at the right time and saw him swimming...

Ben has seen the way people look at him. Girls, boys. He knows he has a nice figure, knows people want to touch him, come near him. It's the personality part that tends to be the issue. Both his own and other people's. But still. Most people don't get as far as Armie did last night, now, did they?

_Just let me have this one thing, please...._

Ben hurries back inside, to eat something, to shower, to check the clock, to see how long it will be until ten.

 

Ben's parents like to spend hours on the beach, roasting in the sun and lazily bickering until they're sleepy and content, and then when the sun goes down they close up shop and go to their favorite Italian restaurant on 92nd street and drink wine. Fine for them, but Ben is too restless for all that, and he'll get bored quickly. When he comes back upstairs, his parents have woken and are making coffee in the shitty little hotel kitchenette. Ben tells them he is meeting friends for lunch and might spend the afternoon with them, but he'll probably come to dinner with them. The free wine is a powerful incentive, and besides, if his time with Armie turns out to be disappointing, he can drown his sorrows in a glass of red and a heaping plate of pasta.

"What friends?" his mother wants to know. Ben shrugs.

"Just friends."

"Are they nice people? What do they do?"

Ben helps himself to the remaining coffee, black. Shrugs.

"Jesus, Ben," his mother says, spritzing her arms with a choking dose of sprayable sunscreen. "You don't know?"

"He just doesn't want to be put through the wringer, honey," his father chides her wearily. "Listen, kid, just please don't get the cops called on you and please don't knock anybody up."

"He's still gay," his mother interjects.

"Well, I just don't want you knocking anybody up."

"That's not how it works," she says, irritated, tossing his father the spray can. "Now get my back."

That's all they have to say about it, which is a relief. Ben helps them carry chairs and the cooler down, because they are paying for an awful lot of his shit this week, and also this will get them out of the room faster. He can only imagine how many questions his mother will ask upon meeting Armie. As well meaning as it is humiliating.

It's only eight am. Ben treats himself to what he thinks is a long shower, but it's only 8:30 by the time he gets out. He watches TV, watches the beach below rapidly fill up with people. With a mild twinge of guilt, he thinks about how his parents really aren't so bad. They seemed more put out by his choice of college major than his admission of his sexuality. As long as he has a job and isn't in prison, and lets them know that he hasn't been kidnapped, they don't really care what he does. They just have such strong personalities, and it tends to intimidate new people....

He is not going to let that happen with Armie. He at least needs some time to warn him.

As the arranged hour draws nearer, Ben begins to agonize over when to go knock on the door. Ten on the dot will seem desperate, surely, but how late is too late to wait? He doesn't want Armie to feel forgotten, or like Ben is playing games. His stomach tightens as the clock on his phone blinks 10:02. He's just trying to formulate the perfect time when there's a knock on the door. 

Probably housekeeping. Ben opens it anyway.

"Hey," says Armie, still dressed not at all for the beach, or for some Jay Gatsby dress-up version of the beach, khaki capri pants and a pink button-up shirt. All that's missing is a sweater knotted lightly around his shoulders. Ben feels suddenly underdressed in his jeans and a grey T-shirt advertising the bar where he likes to play trivia on Wednesdays, but Armie doesn't seem to mind, because he says, "Do you want to do something before we get lunch?"

And Ben says, "Yes, of course," because of course he does, of course, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still full from two consecutive Thanksgiving dinners and an entire day spent baking cookies but not so full I can't lift my hands to type, so have chapter 2! 
> 
> As always, come play with me on [Tumblr](http://theweddingofthefoxes.tumblr.com/)


	3. Tour Guide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is this a date? Maybe, kind of? Possibly? Is this going to lead to another one?

As they walk down the bright, sunny stretch of Coastal Highway, Armie confesses that he's never actually been to the beach before. 

"Really?" Ben asks. He's gone to the beach with his parents ever single year of his life. There's a picture in their hallway of him as a roly-poly toddler, crying after sampling a mouthful of sand out of a little plastic shovel. His parents thought it was hilarious. 

"My dad and stepmom didn't really do vacations. Not like, fun ones. I mean, sometimes we'd go to this lake house, and it was boring as shit." Armie shrugs. "It was always cold and cloudy and nobody else was around. I usually just played my Game Boy the whole time."

This explains, then, Armie's fascination with all the stuff that Ben takes for granted. The tourist stores, for instance. Apparently he and his friends popped into one so he could buy a lighter, which turned out to be a dud, and so his friends Rey and Finn could get a big beach blanket to lay on. But he wanted to get a closer look, and Ben was happy to play tour guide. 

They look at all the goofy shit that has been here all throughout the years Ben's been coming her--the bottle openers shaped like sharks, the crabs made out of puka shells with googly eyes glued on, the T-shirts with kittens on floral towels that say Someone In OC Loves Me! "You'd look good in one of those," says Armie, joking, but Ben's heart stutters. 

"You can wear that one," he jokes back, pointing at one that says, in all caps, DON'T JACK MY SWAG BRO.

"Deal."

"We can wear them to the boardwalk," Ben says. "God knows we won't be the weirdest looking ones there."

"Finn and Rey were talking about going tomorrow or Thursday, maybe. I know they won't mind if I want to bring someone, too." He's not looking at Ben as he says that, but looking at a big wooden cage full of hermit crabs, who are wearing garish shells that have emojis and Mickey Mouse painted on them. He can't look away, though. "God, these things are vile. You can just buy em?"

"By the dozen," Ben says, trying to tamp down his hope, his imagination a little bit. "Like a bunch of donuts."

"Eugh." Armie's still staring at them, crawling around on top of each other. His face looks just like the distressed emoji on one of the hermit crab's shells. It's adorable. 

"You can buy lizards, too."

"Oh, that's just sad. Poor things. I'd buy every lizard in this store just to release them back into the wild."

"They'd all immediately get squashed running across Coastal Highway."

"Maybe they'd be smart. They'd just live under all the crab shacks and eat scraps. Or those candy stores." Armie taps Ben's shoulder, as if Ben has forgotten about some promise he's made. "Take me to one of those candy stores."

"Candy Kitchen? They're on every block. Roll out of bed and you'll find yourself at one."

"I thought you were going to be my tour guide."

So Ben guides him to the nearest Candy Kitchen, literal steps away, and they stand browsing the chocolate-covered pretzels and fudge and candy legos. "I don't eat a lot of candy, but my friends have been insisting I go here," Armie says. "And I do like it. Nice stuff. Just every now and then."

"Only the finest," Ben teases.

"I know my worth," Armie responds, smiling smugly, but there's mischief in his eyes. "Only the finest indeed."

Ben worries that Armie won't let him buy the pretzels he likes for him, so he does it while Armie is distracted, poking a stuffed animal based on some dumb meme, and hands the bag to him, eliciting a squawk of disapproval.

"Ben, really! I'm not even going to eat all of this. You didn't have to--"

"So share," Ben says, more confident than he feels. He is surprised at how cool he sounds, when internally he's tripping all over himself. Though he does feel the tips of his ears light up as Armie studies him again with that sly-fox look, smiles.

"Lunch first. Then dessert."

Those four words nearly bowl Ben over.

Ben takes him to a taco stand, his favorite place to get food here. There's not even anywhere to sit down, just a high bench with napkins and hot sauce laid out. Armie eats delicately, nibbling at his taco so that nothing falls out onto his shirt, and watches, not really hiding how impressed he is, as Ben eat three of them in the time it takes him to finish one. 

"I can see what you mean about this place," Armie says. "They're so good."

"I haven't actually eaten today," Ben confesses. "I mean, I got some coffee after I went swimming--"

"That was you, then!" Armie says. "I thought so."

"Really early? Like, 6:30 this morning?"

Armie nods. "I wanted a smoke. You were out really far."

It never seems like that far to Ben, but he's a strong swimmer. "If you're up anyway, come swimming with me next time. I usually go late at night or early in the morning, since I'm not really, ah. I don't like when it's so crowded."

Now it's Armie's turn to go pink. "I guess this isn't a good idea when like, you agree to go to the beach, but I don't actually swim. I never learned."

Disappointing though it is that they won't get any night swims, at least the way Ben likes to do it, way on out, Ben is weirdly pleased that Armie has confided this in him. "There's a lot else to do. You don't have to worry about that."

A flash of something--maybe relief?--passes over Armie's face. Then, hurriedly, he says, "I can't believe you let me starve you back at that candy store. Swimming and then not eating. You can still have some of these if you want."

"Of course I do."

But Armie's distressed again when he reaches into the bag, because the pretzels have begun to melt. "Christ. What a mess."

Ben takes it from him. "Just throw them in the freezer when we get back to the hotel. They'll be fine."

Armie, still blushing a little bit, leans against the bench and looks out at the traffic passing by, at the kids playing mini-golf across the street. "My friends want to hang out once I'm back, but....I'd really like to hang out again tomorrow. Or maybe even late tonight. Is that okay?"

Was that okay? More than okay. "Yeah, for sure," Ben says, finishing the pretzel in just a couple bites like a dog devouring a treat. "I'm going to dinner tonight with my parents, anyway. But if you're up for anything after, just text me."

"Yeah, definitely." Armie turns away from the road, back to Ben, and smiles. "There's--hold still."

Armie licks his thumb and wipes a smudge of chocolate from right under Ben's lip, and the gesture is so sweet and so strangely erotic that Ben does exactly what he's been trying not to do all day and he leans in and kisses Armie, fast and breathy. They taste like hot sauce and chocolate and it's not a bad combination at all, though maybe it's just because it's him. He can feel Armie jolt with surprise, but encouragingly, Armie doesn't draw away, and then, even better, he leans in closer when Ben makes like he's going to pull away. It's probably not even a full minute between Armie wiping his face and them finally separating, but Ben is on fire. 

"I'll text you, okay?" Armie says softly. "After I'm done with my friends tonight. Or maybe sooner."

"Whenever you want," Ben says, dazed with his own daring.

 

At dinner that night, Ben keeps checking his phone. "Can you put that away at the table?" his mother chides, though she doesn't sound that worried about it--it just seems to be something mothers should say. "Tell me about your day instead. You got a bit of a burn."

It takes Ben a minute to realize she's talking about his ears, which have been red-tipped all afternoon and evening because he's been getting intermittent texts from Armie. 

"I got tacos with a friend," he says, through a mouthful of fettuccine. "We went walking down Coastal Highway. He's never been here before. We're probably going out tonight." He feels ears go redder when he considers the implication of the last three words, but nobody seems to notice. 

"You should have asked him to come to dinner," his mother says, taking a sip of red wine. "Maybe tomorrow."

"That'd be nice," he agrees, and his phone buzzes again. When his mother turns to ask his father something about what time the hotel pool closes, Ben opens his most recent text.

_Finn and Rey really want to meet you. They're off doing something right now. I'm just waiting at the hotel, but seriously, take your time. We can meet out on the beach?_

Quickly, before his mother sees--

_Absolutely. Bring a blanket down?_

His phone buzzes as he puts it away, but he looks at it again as soon as they get up from the table after the check is paid, even though he knew it would say yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has basically evolved into my love letter to Ocean City, and also to Benarmie, because they're sweet babs.


	4. Mint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben's mother is rather canny when it comes to her son. But hopefully not canny enough to pick up on Ben's most daring plan.

Ben is practically ready to climb out of the car before it's even parked in the hotel lot. His parents are discussing going to the pool, if it's still open, but neither of them are particularly sure when it closes. "I can't remember for the life of me, Leia. Do you know, by any chance, Ben?" his dad asks.

"What? The pool? I didn't notice. Sorry about that."

"Well, I suppose we'll check tomorrow. No harm in us settling in early. Are you going to come up with us to unwind or go swimming?" his mom asks.

"I'm going down to the beach to meet my friends." Only one friend, but maybe Armie's friends that he's staying with will introduce themselves. Though Ben kind of hopes that will wait til tomorrow.

"Are they staying around here? Don't get into any trouble, now. We'll be in bed when you come back up." His mom reaches into her purse and shakes an Altoid out of the little tin she always keeps in her purse, then pops it in her mouth. "Would you like one, Ben? Always nice after a lot of Italian food."

Ben bites his lip to hide a smile. She knows him better than she lets on, he can tell. "Sure," he says, holding out his hand, and she places the mint in his palm. 

 

The temperature is still hazy-warm, but now there's a nice breeze coming up off the ocean, heady with the smell of the sea, as Ben tries to keep himself from sprinting. It's hard to run on the beach when he's so full and in the stupid sandals he has on, anyway, and sand is slipping between his toes and making him slide around, It'd be just like him to fall on his fucking face right before he gets to where he's going.

He doesn't fall. He's off the little sandy path behind the hotel and out on the beach proper, looks around. There are some kids who look a bit younger than him, laughing around an electric lantern. Two little boys are playing with sparklers, apparently trying to stab each other with them, and further down the beach, a couple of teenagers are throwing a glow-in-the-dark ball back and forth--it's getting darker and darker out, and that feature's going to be more and more necessary. Then he spots Armie, staring out at the sea, sitting on the red-and-black striped blanket. Even in the dim twilight, his hair makes him noticeable. His hands are linked together, pulling his knees up to his chest. 

"What'd you guys get into?" Ben asks, and Armie starts, just a bit, before he smiles, realizing who's pulled him out of his daydreams. Ben would give his scholarship to know what he was thinking about just then.

"They took me to go mini-golfing in a place full of plastic dinosaurs that are from like, the 70's. Rey won."

"Not that you sound bitter or anything." Ben pushes the mint around in his mouth, savoring how intense it is. 

Armie flops down on the blanket, so he's staring up at the sky. So his head is barely two inches from Ben's knee. "You won't be surprised to know I've been dragged golfing a few times. My father thought we might bond over it. But there aren't any T-Rex's on the Foxwood Acres gold course, so I bombed."

"That explains the way you dress."

"Some people like to look nice, Ben." Armie pauses, then seems to look worried that he's said something insulting. He goes on--"Some of us have to try."

"What makes you think you have to try?"

Armie laughs, though there's a trace of bitterness to it. "Ben, if you saw me like, first thing in the morning...."

"I think I'd be fine with that," Ben says, rushed, and Armie doesn't meet his gaze but there's a little smile playing on his mouth. They are both considering the implication of this. 

"How was your dinner?" Armie asks, shifting with great purpose so his head is resting against Ben's leg now. On impulse, Ben reaches down and touches Armie's hair, soft, feeling how stiff it is under the weight of whatever spray or pomade Armie uses it in. The heat of the day and the exertion of losing at mini-golf has wilted it a bit, and a few strands are falling down into Armie's forehead. Fuck, he looks like a model, effortlessly rumpled in his nice preppy clothes. 

"It was good. We've been going to the same place for forever, so the staff knows us. Dinner's always nice there. But I was kind of anxious to get back, too."

"Oh, yeah?"

Ben knows this is his cue and he dips down, a million times thankful to his mother for the mint, presses his mouth to Armie's. This time Armie is fully expecting it, and he buries his hands in Ben's hair. Even as Ben shifts so he can lie next to Armie on the blanket, they manage to not separate. He's absolutely delighted when he feels Armie's tongue slip into his mouth and taste the mint for himself.

"You came prepared," Armie whispered. 

Ben laughs, and Armie laughs too, but then something whizzes past them and plops into the sand a few feet away, and, nervous as a deer, Armie bolts to a sitting position. It's that glowing beach ball that the teenagers were tossing around. 

"God," Armie said. "I thought that was gonna hit me in the head."

The teens come to retrieve it, laughing and kicking up sand everywhere, and Armie frowns. Ben can tell he thinks the moment has been ruined. He pulls on Armie's arm, lightly, to encourage him to lie back down.

"Look. No clouds," Ben says. "You can see all the stars..."

How cliche is this? And yet, it's not at all, because nothing like this has ever happened to Ben. It's easy as anything for him to get a quick fuck, and when he was first released into the wild at college, he did all the time. Romance is different. It's something he likes the idea of quite a bit. But he's never had these romantic little moments with someone that are supposedly so common that they're stereotypes. 

"Do you know any constellations?" Armie asks.

"Just the basic ones. The Big Dipper and stuff."

"They're a lot easier to see up over the ocean. Way too much light coming from the city."

"Still pretty dark, though."

They lay together, quiet, looking up, for a long time. Maybe twenty minutes. Maybe thirty. Armie rests his hand, palm-down, on top of Ben's, rubs it with his thumb, and Ben can feel himself turning into a mist, sinking down into the sand with joy.

Finally Ben says:

"The uh. The beach zamboni thing is going to come at some point."

It's too dark to tell, but he has the feeling Armie is looking at him like he's insane. He elaborates.

"I forget what it's called. It comes and cleans up the beach. It'll run us over."

"Oh," Armie says, sounding a bit put out. "I...did you want to go back to your room, then?"

"Yes, but....you should come with me. If you want to."

Armie kisses his hand, gentleman-like. "What about your parents?"

"Our room's a suite. They're in the bedroom and they sleep like the dead. Go in your room and unlock the door that connects to your room and then come into the living area. That's where I'm sleeping."

Armie leans in and whispers in Ben's ear.

"Do you think we'll get caught?"

He sounds not a bit worried. He sounds flirtacious, no, seductive. There's a faint scent of mint on his breath from Ben's mouth.

"We'll definitely get caught if the beach zamboni runs us over."

"Mmm. True."

"And you can just slip back into your own rooms whenever you like."

"Maybe I want coffee and eggs in the morning."

Ben laughs. "There's a good diner around here. 24 hours. I'll take you tomorrow. After, we're..." He presses a kiss into Armie's neck. "After we're done."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These boys! Hope they don't get caught....


	5. Mouthwash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben's night with Armie is exactly what he's hoping for--hopefully, his parents aren't going to find out about it.

The first time Ben wakes, it's well before his alarm, at just past 3 am. The pull-out bed he's been sleeping on is a double, so there's room for two, but Armie is tucked tight up into Ben's armpit, cold--the air conditioning is in overdrive, and the room is only 64 degrees. Christ! No wonder he woke up. He gently extracts himself to go turn it off, puts his boxers on, nearly trips on a bottle of Listerine on the floor next to the nightstand. When he gets back into bed, Armie stirs.

"Sorry it was so cold," Ben whispers. It doesn't help that they're both fully undressed. Armie's khaki pants and pink shirt are laid neatly across the armchair by the window, where he left them after they'd come up to Ben's room. Armie tested the door to make sure he could slip back into his own room in the morning, and texted Rey and Finn warning them not to lock it again or he'd kill them. Once Ben had confirmed that his parents were sound asleep, he hadn't been able to get the bed unfolded fast enough. They'd had to stay quiet, and they hadn't fucked, exactly? But they'd started out kissing, and then, to Ben's delight, he'd felt Armie's hand move from his shoulder down his chest, down to his stomach.

"Christ," Armie had said, into Ben's mouth. "You really are--fuck."

"I'm really what?"

"What the fuck kind of English major is this muscular?"

Ben had grinned. "Oh, you know. I have my copy of The Grapes of Wrath in one hand and a dumbbell in the other."

"You're like, made up, aren't you? You're too appealing."

That had been enough to get Ben to kiss Armie again, hard, desperate, unbelieving. How had they only known each other for a day? There was a dizzying, horrifying moment when Ben realized that this vacation was going to end and they wouldn't be next door to each other forever and...

Then Armie's hand had moved lower, palmed Ben's thigh, then gently took his cock in his hand and Ben's thoughts whited out for a second because it felt as good as he'd imagined--he had to clench his teeth and mash his lips together to keep from crying out.

"Do you," Armie had asked, very quiet, just barely audible over the hum of the air conditioner, "Do you have, uh? Any lotion or anything?"

Fuck. "No," Ben had said. "I mean, maybe in the bathroom or something? I can get up and check--" Though he had truly not wanted to get up, extract himself from Armie's grip--

"I have a better idea," Armie had said. He'd leaned down, shifted onto his elbows, thrown Ben just the quickest little wicked grin before getting to work sucking Ben's dick. This isn't the first time this has happened to Ben, not by a long shot, but whether it's the excitement of having landed someone he legitimately likes or someone who he thinks is really beautiful rather than an easy lay or--whatever it is, God, it's so much better than any blowjob he's had before--

"Why are you so good at this?" Ben had moaned. He hadn't really expected an answer, what with Armie being occupied, but Armie can't resist taking his mouth off him for a second to reply. 

"Because I believe in doing a job right or not doing it at all."

That statement had made Ben white out a little bit, too.

He'd returned the favor just to hear Armie's furious whispers of encouragement, to feel Armie's hands pulling his hair so tight that it hurt, but hurt in the kind of way that Ben liked just right. Right after Armie had come, there had been a creaking sound from Ben's parents room and they both froze, Ben's mouth off Armie's cock but still poised over it. Ten seconds passed. Then thirty. 

"Do you have like, mouthwash?" Armie asked when they were certain no one was awake and coming over to catch them. 

"Yeah."

"I'm taking some."

"As much as you like." 

"You take some too."

"Just bring it into bed with you."

"Your parents are going to think you're drinking it."

"My parents will wonder why I picked the mouthwash when there's like, seven bottles of wine in the fridge."

Armie had brought the mouthwash into bed as asked, and they took turns swigging it, swishing it, then spitting it out into the empty mug that Ben had drunk his coffee from earlier that morning. "Gross," said Armie, but he seemed satisfied with the grossness. They had spent a little while longer kissing, now all spicy and fresh and tingling. Armie had been so enamored of Ben's lips, kept kissing them and nibbling them and touching them with his thumb.

"I never kissed a guy in public before," he had said sleepily. 

"Yeah?"

"A lot in private. I went to an all-boys school, and at the end of my senior year I went kinda nuts. I decided if I couldn't be out publicly, I'd do whatever the fuck I wanted in private. So after graduation I screwed around with like...a bunch of my classmates. And then in college I kept doing it." Armie laughed, soft. "I thought my dad wouldn't pay for my college if he knew. Then I found out he didn't really care what I did as long as I got all A's and didn't get any tattoos because that could hurt my job prospects. He'd rather I fuck men than like, dye my hair. Isn't that something?"

"Do you think your job prospects will suffer because everyone at the taco stand saw us kiss?"

"I don't really give a fuck, if we're being honest."

They had fallen asleep like that and stayed that way until Ben had woken up because of the cold.

"Sorry it was so cold."

Armie's still asleep, just shifts. In the dim light bleeding out from under the bathroom door, Ben can get a little impression of what Armie might look like first thing in the morning, and he loves what he sees. Armie's hair is longer than he thought it would be, the slicked-backness was deceiving. His mouth is just slightly open, and there's the sound of a soft, gentle snoring coming from his mouth or nose, Ben can't tell which. Not cartoonish, rough, aggressive snoring, but something almost like a child with a stuffy nose. Ben loves it and loves it and loves it. Perfect for falling asleep to.

 

The next time Ben wakes, it's to the sound of his mother's voice.

"Ben! We're going to down to the beach. Are you coming?"

She's in the room, fuck! Ben realizes he had to have slept through his alarm, which he had set early so he could wake Armie and get him safely back to his room. He sits bolt upright, looking all over. Armie is nowhere to be found. 

"Jesus, Ben, were you having a nightmare?" asks his dad.

"What? No, oh my God. You just startled me, that's all. I was asleep."

"Well, come on, time to get up," his mother says, all business. "If you don't want to come to the beach with us, can you at least help us with the cooler?"

"Yeah, absolutely. Definitely."

It's a perfect day, just the slightest bit of breeze, the day already warm and clear. Ben decides he'll hang out and sun himself with his parents awhile and then text Armie and find out what his plans are for the boardwalk--

"Were you sleepwalking again last night, Ben?" his dad asks.

"I haven't sleepwalked in about ten years, so I don't think so..." Ben answers.

"Well I thought I heard you walking around last night, and then there was mouthwash lying on the floor next to your bed. That's just the kind of thing you used to do as a kid."

"Do you remember when he climbed into the fridge and laid on the bottom shelf with his legs sticking out?" his mom asks, cracking open a can of Sprite and taking a sip. 

"He did it twice, actually."

"I was probably hot!" Ben protests. "Maybe I still had garlic breath and sleeping me decided to do something about it." Whatever his parents want to think about last night is perfectly fine with him. 

"Well, if you drank it, it looks like it wasn't much," his mom says. "You'll give yourself an ulcer or something if you do things like that in your sleep, though."

"I'll let my sleep self know," Ben promises, unlocking his phone. Texts from Armie. His heart leaps.

_Hey, I just woke up because your alarm was going off and I came back to my room. You're still asleep. It's cute as shit. Come meet me at my room at 3, that's when we're going to the Boardwalk. You can meet Finn and Rey then. Thanks for everything last night. You're pretty great. I don't know how else to express it. You're the English guy. But you are great. See you at 3?_

Grinning, Ben takes a picture of himself sunning, texts it to Armie. Then adds, 

_Yes, definitely. Have to tan first._

Five minutes later, Hux messages him back.

_I'll laugh if you burn._

_You're mean._

_But if you burn I'll kiss it better._

_You're still mean. That'll hurt._

_Take it or leave it._

Ben laughs to himself, then answers--

_Take it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing a nice summer story is such a relief when it's December and you're about to freeze to death.


	6. Hurricane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trip to the Boardwalk doesn't go exactly how Armie planned.

Ben's not normally so obsessed with being timely, but Armie has changed him, it seems. He leaves his parents to their sunbathing around 2:30 so he can jump in the shower back at the hotel room and be at the room next door at three on the dot. He's barely knocked when the door flies open and Armie stands before him in all his ridiculous preppy glory--navy blue shorts held up with a belt decorated with, no shit, sailboats, and a sky-blue polo, and those sockless boat shoes that Ben can only assume one wears while puttering around on the deck of a yacht. He looks immaculately scrubbed, adorable, pink-cheeked as a Rockwell painting. 

Two faces are peering out from behind him, trying to get a good look at Ben, reminding him for all the world of two puppies greeting a new visitor. Rey and Finn, Ben recalls. 

"Come on in," Armie says, trying to scoot his friends back so there's room for Ben to enter.

They are happy to barrage him with questions and offers. Do you want a granola bar? Did you two really meet on the balconies? What did you get into last night? Do you want a can of Coke? You're not in a relationship, right?

Ben answers them all, grinning at how hard Armie is trying to conceal his blush. No thank you. Yes, we did. That's for us to know and you to not find out. Yes, please. No, I'm not.

"You're like, an expert on Ocean City, Armie says," Rey tells him as she pulls on a pair of strappy brown sandals that go all the way up to her knees, like a gladiator. 

"I've come here every year since I was a baby, so I guess that's some degree of expertise," Ben agrees. "I mean, someone who lives here would know more. But I'd say I'm a professional vacationer here."

"Okay, good, because you're guiding us around the Boardwalk then," says Finn.

"You make it sound like I'm taking a bunch of kids," Ben jokes. "You're not gonna get lost."

"You should have brought one of those baby tow ropes," Rey answers. "The ones the kids all hold onto, that they have at daycares. Do you have sunscreen on? I'm ready to go if you guys are."

"I just showered, I'll have to reapply--"

"Oh, Armie can do that. Right?"

Armie goes even redder, but the suggestion does seem to please him. Probably it's one of those planted ideas, something that wouldn't have occurred to them if Rey hadn't said something, but even the incredibly chaste task of spraying sport sunscreen from a canister becomes erotic somehow, the way Armie is looking at the muscle of his outstretched arms, or the way he has to expose the back of his neck for Armie to spray that too. Like an animal exposing its tummy. Then Armie throws on a pair of sunglasses and announces he's ready to go, too.

Rey drives, Finn claims shotgun, keeping his hand on her thigh as she honks and hollers her way down the snarled-up Coastal Highway traffic. Between her jolting brake jobs and constant beeps, she and Finn tell Ben a bit about themselves. Their constant showing of affection and the way they seem to have unintentionally third-wheeled Armie makes more sense when Ben finds out they will soon be separated for almost a whole year. Rey is studying abroad in Thailand come the beginning of the semester, while Finn has joined the Peace Corps and will soon be off to Ecuador. This trip is meant to be a sort of last hurrah for them to be sappy and sweet, and it seems to come as a source of both relief and excitement that Armie has a cute little project of his own to work on.

"Cute?"

"His words," Finn says, jerking his thumb back at Armie, who's right behind him. "Not mine."

"You two are like a pair of goddamned parrots," Armie gripes. "Not a secret in this world is safe from you."

"It doesn't count as a secret if I can see you holding hands in the rearview mirror."

Armie makes no attempt to argue that point, and while Rey accelerates through the final milliseconds of a yellow light, Ben tightens his hold on Armie's hand just a bit. 

Parking at the Boardwalk is exactly the mess that Ben was sure it'd be, but Rey manages to not flatten any children when she swings into a spot that's miraculously close to the haunted house ride. They really are as giddy as kids, Ben thinks, wanting to get on every ride and go in every job, all while exalting in this week where they just get to have fun and be together, never not holding hands or an arm around the other's waist. Armie's a little shyer, or maybe just not used to such boisterous crowds--surely his dad's lake retreats did not involve the sort of carnival of people in torn denim short-shorts and bikini tops and tattoos inviting the reader to fuck themselves and hats with plastic crab claws sticking out of them. As if to highlight the strangeness, the four of them pause beneath the gargantuan plastic shark sticking out of the Ripley's Believe It Or Not building to figure out a plan.

"Why don't we do a few rides together and then split off?" Armie suggests.

"The couples?" Rey teases.

"The pairs," Armie allows. "We have to do that Ferris wheel, and--"

"The slingshot thing?"

"God, no."

"Chicken," Finn says. "I'll do it."

The four of them settle on doing the Ferris wheel and Hurricane together before breaking off and meeting up again at the haunted house ride an hour later. Whatever adrenaline thrill rides Finn and Rey choose to do in their off time is up to them. Armie prefers the tranquil, slow swooping of the Ferris Wheel, and swats at Finn when he gets the idea to rock the basket they're sitting in.

"I will push you out of this thing when we're at the top if you keep that up."

"It would be my pleasure to see you try," Finn says, grinning and rocking some more. Ben suspects this is a tactic meant to goad Armie into clinging to him, playing something between Cupid and wingman, and it is a stunning success. Ben will probably have finger marks on his upper arm for days. 

Everyone survives the Ferris wheel ride, and Armie still doesn't let go on Ben even when they make it to the ground. To Armie's visible relief, the Hurricane ride is low to the ground, just cars on a fast up-and-down circuit that lists purposely to the side so the riders feel like they're test tubes in a whirling centrifuge. It's moving so fast on the wavy track that Ben can hardly breathe from laughing and whirling, and Armie is enjoying himself too, his gelled hair coming loose and seeming to float around his face. The music coming from the speakers is so loud--it's TLC's No Scrubs--that Armie says something and Ben has no idea what it is.

Armie's glowing with merriment when he clambers out of the Hurricane car, but a few steps out back onto the midway and it's clear that all the circular motion has affected him because he suddenly slows and makes a face like he's suddenly not sure where he is. 

"You okay?" Ben asks. By this point, Finn and Rey have caught up too, like a pair of parent birds hovering above their smartly-dressed chick. 

"That was just pretty dizzying, wow. Maybe we can sit and get a soda or something. I'm fine, though. Just need to sit."

It takes a few minutes more to convince his friends that he'll be okay, but he manages it, and they set off to propel themselves into the sky while Armie chooses a suitable bench and hands Ben a five dollar bill. "Just a Sprite or something, or ginger ale if they have it. Jesus Christ, I'm sorry about this."

"You just need a minute. We'll people-watch. It's the best place in the state for people watching."

He purchases Armie a movie theater portion-sized ginger ale and returns to the bench with the change. Armie leans into his shoulder, holding the styrofoam cup with both hands and sipping slow, and Ben puts an arm around him.

"Your friends are a lot of fun," Ben tells him as they watch a sweltering street performer in a giant, pill-shaped Minion suit take a photo with a gaggle of sandy children.

"I'm gonna miss them. As annoying as it is to be the third wheel, you know, because it always is, they're really great. And I'll be able to Skype them and everything, but....it'll be weird." Like a vagabond, Ben can easily hop on his train of thought. "What is your semester like?"

"Not being spent halfway across the world, if that's what you're asking."

"Baltimore and College Park aren't so far away."

"We can come see each other. Of course we can."

"I like Baltimore. Take me to Fell's Point." Armie settles closer in Ben's hold, taking another few sips. 

"You want to go drinking?"

"The fuck I don't, right this moment, no. But some other time."

They're quiet for a moment, listening to the chattering white noise of the passerby. The Minion is still posing for photos, doing what might be a clunky, poorly-remembered Macarena. A Dopplering scream from behind them makes them turn--the Slingshot has taken off, maybe with Finn and Rey inside. Just looking at it makes Hux go pale.

"Do you want to go back to the hotel?" Ben asks.

Armie shakes his head. "I don't want to make Rey and Finn leave early, they're having fun."

"We can just grab an Uber and head back."

Armie seems to want to protest some more, but when he rises he immediately sits back down. "Okay," he says. "Maybe...maybe that's a good idea."

"Not that you just want to get back to the hotel with me alone or anything," Ben teases.

"You get turned on by like, me almost throwing up?"

"Do you get turned on by me playing nurse?"

"I guess we'll find out. Come on, we'll have my room to ourselves for awhile. I'll text Finn and let him know."

"They're definitely going to think you faked sick," Ben laughs. 

As if to prove to himself and all parties involved that he is not faking it, the moment they step off the boardwalk and into the parking lot to await their Uber, Armie throws up just feet away from Rey's car, so hard and sudden that he drops his half-full cup of ginger ale. His expression when he's finished is in some bizarre center point between misery and disbelief. 

"So no more spinning rides," he finally says, as Ben steps forward to smooth his hair back out of his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wahhh, sorry it's been so long since the last update! Please have some beachy fluff, here you are.


	7. Water Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All vacations must come to an end. Ben and Armie should maybe hash out what happens to them after.

The ride back to the hotel is blessedly free of any puking, though Armie does still seem a bit pale, and tightens his jaw every time the driver stops too hard at a red light. “You gonna make it?” Ben asks, low—he’s worried the driver won’t like the idea of having someone in the car who’s just been sick. Do they charge extra for that? He’s not interested in finding out.

“Promise,” Armie says. His hair’s flopping out of place again, and it makes him look rakish, cute, like a hairstylist on the set of a movie purposely pulled a few strands out to make him look even more alluring. Ben decides he’ll wait for Armie to brush his teeth before kissing him. 

By the time they get back to Armie’s room, the air conditioning and being out of any kind of moving vehicle has done a world of good. Armie doesn’t look so pale anymore, and he’s bitching in a joking way, all in good fun. “God, I think we spend more time getting to and from the Boardwalk than actually doing anything, huh? It seems incredibly unfair that some 12-year-old has probably inhaled about a gallon of ice cream and can do the roller coasters all day long.”

“The diabetes will get him eventually. Do you want a soda to replace the one you threw on the ground?”

“Awful nice of you to offer me my own soda, Ben. Also, I dropped it, I didn’t _throw_ it.”

Ben grins. “I can go next door and get my soda.”

“I know for a fact all you have is red wine and mouthwash.”

“You could use at least one of those things, Pukey.”

Armie punches his shoulder, just hard enough to make Ben laugh. 

“I brushed my teeth already, thanks. You can get me a soda. They’re Finn’s anyway.”

Armie has curled himself up on the bed, looking oddly cozy for someone lying on top of a perfectly made bed in what look to Ben like Easter clothes. He’s kicked off those boat shoes and he’s wiggling his toes in anticipation of the drink. “You even put ice in it,” he says, delighted.

“I spared no expense for your recovery,” Ben says, mock-solemn.

Armie kisses his hand like Scarlett O’Hara, playfully delicate. “Aren’t you the nicest?”

“Nope.”

They both laugh. Then Armie’s face goes serious as he asks—“When do you and your folks go home, Ben?”

Ben takes a second to think. “Day after tomorrow. What about you?” He can’t believe they haven’t discussed that yet.

“Tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night?”

“Mmhm.” Armie sits up so he can sip on the soda. “Can I ask you something else?”

‘”Yeah, absolutely.”

“Don’t take it the wrong way.”

It makes Ben’s stomach feel all knotted up but he says, without hesitation, “I won’t.”

“You’re not just like, doing all this because you think you won’t see me again, right?”

Relief creeps up Ben’s stomach, wraps around his heart. “Oh, Jesus, Armie. No, not at all.” He scoffs. “First of all, you have my number, so like. You can text me anytime. And we won’t even be that far apart when we get back to where we’re going. What, like an hour? Maybe more with traffic.”

“Sure—I mean, the physical distance isn’t what I was thinking about.” Armie sets his drink on the bedside table and lies back again, looking up at Ben, his eyes all big and uncertain. Miles away from his normal expression, which is sharp, knowing, a little arrogant. “I mean more like—I had a lot of hookups, like I told you. Like a lot. But nobody was ever this nice to me, for a long time. Or they were, kind of, but then they ghosted me. They didn’t want to be seen with me or they found more people to just fuck around with, or, you know. Things came up. So.”

It is a stunning admission not because it surprises Ben that this would happen but because it is so exactly Ben’s own experience. Casual flings, often with people who were decently sweet or funny or sexy but that never lasted. Partially because Ben was happy to split, too, not make anything too serious, but partially because nobody else really seemed to make any effort either. Armie has been such a breath of fresh air…

“And,” Armie goes on. “I see Finn and Rey, and like. God knows I’m really happy for them, especially since they’ve been together awhile and are going to be doing the long-distance thing and they’re so happy. I’m not jealous of them specifically. But it’s a little draining to feel like you’re the odd guy out, you know? And I don’t want you to think I’ve just been inviting you along so I don’t, uh, seem like the third wheel, or like, I just found this hot guy to show off so I didn’t feel left out or--”

Ben holds up his hands, both palms out like he’s signaling an approaching car to stop.

“Armie. Armie, listen.”

Armie stops and listens.

“I don’t think that at all. I know I’m not like, on display or anything. I mean, Rey and Finn’s reactions to me alone was evidence of that. But also the way you’ve treated me. Not like a prop or anything.”

He thinks for a second, still locked in Armie’s bright hopeful frightened gaze.

“And I’m not seeing anybody else, back home. And, you know, if you thought it was okay, I wouldn’t see anybody else. Just you.”

“Okay,” Armie says. “Okay, good.”

“We’ll go to Fell’s,” Ben promises, closing the gap between them to kiss Armie’s warm white neck. “Come up to Fell’s and spend the night with me.”

“We’ll do that.”

“And tonight I’ll teach you how to swim.”

Armie laughs, as derisive as he is pleased. “Ben, nobody learns to swim in just one night.”

“We can go down to the pool, then. You can dip your feet in. Sit on the edge and read and I’ll swim.”

“Should I bring my water wings?”

“Inner tube, maybe. Wouldn’t you look cute?”

“Better the pool than the ocean. I’d drift out to sea.” He takes Ben’s hand again for another kiss. “Really, though. We’ll go down to the pool tonight.”

“Give Finn and Rey some more private time, too.”

“Everyone wins.”

Ben kisses Armie’s neck again creeps up to his jaw, his ear. Almost reaches his mouth when he murmurs, “I mean it. I like you a lot.”

“You think you’ll like me so much after vacation?”

“Only one way to find out.”

This time, he goes for Armie’s mouth, and they get a full hour and a half to do as they please before Finn and Rey come tromping back in, Rey with her cheeks sunburned and a milkshake in hand and Finn toting the enormous stuffed walrus he won from hitting balloons with darts. By that time Ben and Armie have turned on the TV and are half-napping, hazy, maybe not loving because it is too early for loving but liking, liking a lot, curled up against the overeager AC’s blast, keeping each other warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update for Valentine's Day! How romantic.


	8. Poolside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Down to the pool our boys go, but they hardly have the place to themselves.

It is fully dark by the time they're down at the pool, having been properly fussed over by Rey and Finn, having eaten a light and highly nutritious dinner of Lunchables and snack cakes ("Is this gonna be okay on your stomach?" Ben asks a million times, knowing he sounds like a worrywart, a mama duck, but he wants to know, damn it). 

"The flinger thing was so much fucking fun," Rey insists.

"I think I threw up because I gave it more than ten seconds of thought," Armie mutters, mock-serious. "What if it broke and you two went flying into space?"

"Wouldn't that be fun? We'd probably just hit the ocean and have to climb out like in Gravity."

"Just, she says." Armie groans. 

"I'm sure you had fun enough getting pampered by your boy toy."

"Hey, now. Ben is a _man_ toy, thanks."

"So complimentary he is." Ben accepts the beer that Finn offers him and sips it slow while standing out on the balcony, enjoying the smell of the breeze while Armie changes into swimming trunks. The drinks at the pool bar aren't out of his parent's budget, but he'd rather get one on the cheap, the free, really. It is pleasantly odd that there is no one on the balcony outside his own room. 

The sea outside is dark and writhing and pounding, steady and vast and mysterious. There's not a cloud in the sky, and the air is full and humid and still. A few stars shine, storybook-pretty.

If the world on the beach side of the hotel is quiet and dark and open, the poolside is bright and noisy and crowded, but comfortably so, a cozy cubby of space for everyone. Jimmy Buffet is insistently reminding everyone he's looking for his long-lost shaker of salt over the speakers that sit perched on the poolside tiki bar, where a tiny woman is serving the middle-aged vacationers drinks in every shade of neon. Kids--isn't it past their bedtime? But then again, this _is_ vacation--are ignoring the No Running sign to chase each other just inches from the deep end, their mothers too engrossed in fifty-cent Kindle knockoffs of Fifty Shades of Grey to notice. 

Armie is simultaneously uncomfortable and delighted by the commotion. It's a lot like taking him to the boardwalk; there's so much commotion. It's so loud that they have to communicate in above-inside voices. 

"How deep does it go?" Armie asks, sitting on the edge of the pool, on the shallow end.

"Only six feet."

"You can drown in less."

"I won't let you drown, Jesus. You can get in. It's only up to your waist."

"Help me."

Armie doesn't need help, but he wants it. He has enjoyed the public attention, Ben suspects, how he doesn't have to really hide himself or worry about anything because there's always something much more noteworthy to stare at--someone covered in paint or piercings or making a drunken scene. He can put his arms around Ben's neck, nice and loose, and enjoy how the cool water feels in contrast to the blanket-heavy heat of the night. 

"I should have said this earlier today, Ben," Armie says, pressing up against him, looking up juuuust enough so their eyes meet perfectly. "But I don't want to see anybody else, either. You know. For right now."

"For right now."

"Maybe longer."

"I'd like that."

"Even though I can't swim and I never gave back your lighter and I throw up if I get overstimulated."

"I've had worse partners."

"I've had much worse." Armie presses up against Ben's chest, suddenly, oddly demure. Maybe it's the reality of the situation, of the probability that this will be more than a beachside fuck, that this is the beginning of something blooming. Ben realizes he's been assuming a lot about Armie tonight. But then Armie asks--"Is it all right if I kiss you?"

"Why wouldn't it be all right?"

"Uh...because there's a couple sitting at the bar that's had their eye on you for awhile and I wasn't sure if like, they were your parents."

Ben nearly leaps out of the pool, turning to look.

"I was going to say don't look now, but it's too late for that," Armie murmurs, unhooking his arms from Ben's neck and clearly amused by Ben's horror. 

No question about it, it's his mother and father. They are doing their very best to watch him while pretending not to be. Ben has a sinking feeling that his mother has already told everyone at the bar who he is, and who she suspects Armie might be, no doubt raising her voice to be heard above the speakers, which are now blasting "El Condor Pasa". His father has probably taken a drink for every additional person she has included in this conversation. 

There's truly no point in avoiding it. Ben might as well hold his breath and plunge right in. He waves, letting them know he sees them, and his mother hops off her seat and makes her merry way towards them. 

"Introduce me to your friend!" she demands. The look in her eye tells Ben she suspects this 'friend' of his is familiar with the flavor of the Altoids in her tin. 

"This is Armie," Ben says. "And my mother."

Polite to a fault, Armie extends one wet hand for her to shake. She takes it, princess-dainty, though that is one hundred percent an act. She's sizing Armie up, excited to get her hands on him, literally, but also judging, weighing, measuring. 

"Ben has been showing me around Ocean City," Armie goes on, aware of her gaze. "He's very helpful."

This is a good thing to say. 

"Would you like to come sit with us? Or, well, I suppose that's not what the two of you came down to the pool for. But you're more than welcome, if you'd like. If you get hungry, Ben's dad and I will get something for you to eat."

"Oh, that's--really, that's not at all necessary. But thank you."

"I'll leave you to it. Enjoy your swim."

Of course, Armie does not swim, so Ben shows off and does a few laps, playing Michael Phelps while Armie admires and then pretends he wasn't. They lean against the pebbly, scratchy pool wall for awhile, chatting, trading gossip about their families, and soon Ben's mom comes back around with a paper carton of fries for them to share, like an indulgent zookeeper making sure the happy beasts are fed. 

All Ben had wanted when this vacation had started was to swim alone in the ocean, but now, the ocean seems so vast and dark and unwelcoming, and somehow, this crowded tacky tiki bar pool at a mid-price hotel is now much more enjoyable, because Armie is here with him, and he tastes, when he steals a little kiss, of chlorine and fry grease, and it is so much sweeter than the salt of the ocean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap! This was such a fun little meandering tale to work on and everyone had such nice things to say about it. My Ocean City-centric story is at an end, so you'll have to come talk Kylux with me at my [! Thank you so much for reading my marshmallow-soft fluff.](http://theweddingofthefoxes.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Heyy, look at that, I actually have a series I've planned on instead of just accidentally adding sections onto? And a modern AU at that? I don't know how many chapters it'll be; just however long it takes to tell the story.
> 
> I'm fully Simon and Garfunkel-obsessed (anyone who follows me on [Tumblr](http://theweddingofthefoxes.tumblr.com/) knows that) and I can't believe it took me this long to put some lyrics in a title.
> 
> Also, I spent every summer of my life at Ocean City, MD, so that's where I've decided these boys have come to spend their vacation.


End file.
